Ginny knows that there are a few things she is good at. Talented, some would say, though she believes skill is acquired through practice, not nature.
She is good at writing, but her last attempts at pouring honest words on a page destroyed her, so for now, she settles with writing anything but her feelings. During the past year, she has penned a plethora of pamphlets and posters for the DA, a few scripts for Potterwatch, some falsely reassuring letters. Her ease with stringing words in a sentence has earned her decent marks in school. Professors often leave comments in the margin of her essays such as "Good writing style, strong structure" or "Sound language use" and even once or twice "A delight to read". She has an inherent hatred of boredom, of dull texts and heavy wording that do not resemble reality and do not make you want to read more. So every time she writes, she tries to give the reader the time of their lives. It does not matter that she has barely grasped that particular law of Transfiguration. She writes to be read and listened to.
She is good at defence, though after the war ends she wants nothing to do with Dark Magic ever again and promptly refuses Kingsley's offer to join the Aurors after she graduates. She believes she has had too much practice over the last year. The thought of making a career out of pursuing darkness and violence repulses her. She wants to turn the page and never look back. No more curses, torture, manipulation or abuse.
She is good at kissing, and more, judging by the feedback she has received. The unfortunate caveat with kissing is that it requires the participation of two individuals, and that the only person she really, really wants to kiss has succumbed to a state of semi-lethargy since the second morning of May.
She is good at Quidditch - very damn good, and she aims to become excellent. She has never been one to share her ambitions with others, but she knows that deep inside of her, she will not settle until she is the best. Apart from her hatred of boredom, she is also completely incapable of sitting still. She craves the thrill of scoring and the roar of the crowd. The swoop in her stomach when she loops into the air and dives low. The fulfillment when hard work pays off and the pain of training bears its fruit.
So in the aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts, Ginny resolves to do the one thing that she is really good at - flying. The one skill that is the product of her physical ability, her stamina, her energy. No need for feelings, for honesty or trust. Just Charlie's tattered old Cleansweep and a gust of wind.
She flies and it is exhilarating.
Her mind is both completely empty and entirely present at the same time. She feels grounded yet she is gliding over a hundred feet in the air. Up there, there is no Fred, no Tom, no Amycus, no one to taunt or haunt her.
Her nightly flies become her escape.
The night is clear and the house is still. Alone in the kitchen, Ginny drains her mug of tea, letting the warmth fill her before she heads out into the wind.
"Hi," someone croaks behind her. The deep and achingly familiar voice startles her and her mug drops in the sink with a clatter. She spins around to face him.
"Merlin, you scared me."
Harry is standing, fully dressed, in the darkness of the kitchen. She has barely seen him since the funerals.
"Do you think I could join you?" he asks, looking away from Ginny, out the window. She had not realised anyone knew about her nighttime flies. She is incredibly aware of how quiet the house is, and that this is the first time they have been alone together since his last birthday.
She sees a chance. She seizes it.
"Not sure you can keep up, Captain. You look a bit rusty." He raises his eyebrows and she presses on.
"This is for advanced fliers only." He takes a step closer to her and suddenly they are both a lifetime younger, flirting in the Quidditch changing rooms.
"I would expect a bit more respect for your old Captain, Weasley."
She grins and the ghost of a smile teases his lips. "Except you're not my Captain anymore, Potter."
She lifts her chin and looks him straight in the eye. She does not remember the kitchen ever feeling this warm.
"We are just two people who have not played together in a very long time," she continues, drawing out every word slowly.
The corner of his mouth lifts up. "I've been told I'm a natural."
"Nah, there's no such thing as raw talent, you need practice." She pauses, her heart in her throat.
"And I reckon you've forgotten how to do it."
He is standing in front of her now, so close that she could extend her fingertips and feel his heart drum against his ribcage.
"I guess I can't know until I've tried again," his voice very, very low. This is it.
"I'll tell you how you fare," she whispers. "Be a Gryffindor and give it a go."
And he does.
His lips meet hers, and it's tentative and chaste and mind-numbing. Time halts and there is nothing in the world except for Harry and Ginny. He tips her head back and deepens the kiss. She wraps her arms around him and pulls him closer.
They kiss and it feels like flying.
His left hand cups her jaw and his right hand dances low on her back, around her waist, on her hips. His thumb rubs back and forth across her cheekbone and he shifts his mouth to her hairline, to her neck, as his thumb glides over her lips ever so slowly. It's warm and deliberate and almost like last year. Except she can feel the gauze under his shirt and she knows the calluses on his palms are not the result of hours spent on the Quidditch pitch. Their hips rock against each other and Ginny marvels at how easily their bodies seem to fit together. Despite the hunger and deprivation, he has grown taller and Ginny, for the first time in more months than she can count, feels completely safe, wrapped in the comfort of his body.
"Why did you wait so long for this," she gasps, nipping at his earlobe. He stifles a groan, low and guttural at the back of his throat.
"I-" he shifts back to her mouth. "I was not sure-" he nibbles on her lower lip and she lets out a gasp. He kisses her again, so slowly, so gently, before pulling back. Green meets amber and she feels a jolt run straight from her heart to her centre. His hair is tousled and his lips are swollen, and Ginny delights in the thought that she is the one who makes him look like this.
"I was scared you might not want me anymore." he mumbles, before reaching behind her to tug on the elastic at the end of her plait. Almost reverently, he runs his fingers through her hair and fans the waves around her shoulders.
"I've never not wanted you, Harry" she whispers, running her hands over his chest before hooking her fingers in his belt loops and pulling him closer. He lifts her on the wooden table and kisses her harder.
Time has stopped and they are the only two people left in the world.
"This was worth dying for," he gasps in her neck, barely audible.
They do not go for a fly that night.